


Just a Job to Do

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins & Hitmen, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5741413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrea finds fulfilling new employment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Job to Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyjupiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Title is from a Genesis song.

“Should I not fire ‘til I see the whites of their eyes?” 

Andrea pressed her eye against the sight of the rifle and focused on the crosshairs. 

“Very funny.”

The voice behind her was that of Mike Ehrmantraut. They’d been working together for seven months now, after Andrea’s near-death experience at the hands of a Nazi death squad. Dumb luck had saved her that time, and a well-placed butterfly clip.

After that, she’d hunted down the phone number Jesse had left in a drawer.

In case of emergency, it had said. Only call this person if you think I’m dead and you’re in danger, he had said.  
She had called.

The rest was history.

She squeezed the trigger, and the target shattered in the distance. She lowered the rifle and pulled her hair back. It was exhausting. Everything was, these days. There was an ache in her heart whenever she thought of Brock, safely sequestered with her grandmother down in Florida. She wondered if she would ever see him again, but also if he would even recognize her if she did.

Black hair turned red, now. Dark red. It was enough to throw off a person’s whole appearance. That was, after all, the point.

Andrea Cantillo was dead. There was a lovely driver’s license in the name of Laura Newsom sitting in her wallet, however. Laura had no past, no children, no ex-boyfriend named Jesse Pinkman. 

What she did have was a job, and a mission to boot. A very lucrative job, in fact.

“So I get in, bat my eyelashes a bit, and then it’s good night?” she asked Mike. “Are you sure this guy won’t have people looking around? I mean, he’s racked up more than a few enemies. He’s got to be on the lookout for strangers.”

“Strangers who look like hitmen, not young Latina modeling types.”

Andrea stared at him.

“Did you just basically call me good-looking? Because that seems awfully out of character for you. You’re like my grandfather. If my grandfather had taught me how to kill a man from a dozen different angles.”

“I’m flattered,” Mike said dryly. “All I’m saying is that men tend to let down their guard when a woman comes to call. I certainly did.”

“I feel like there’s a story here…”

Mike put up one finger.

“Not one that you’re going to be getting anytime soon. Work now.”

Andrea let out a snort.

“You know, you don’t even pay me enough for any of this. There’s way too much hassle involved. I should just walk right out that door and go on back home.”

Mike looked less than threatened. They both knew that she couldn’t go back to Albuquerque, where the white power gangs were looking for her, to send the message to Jesse. 

Or so she figured. It was hard to get information on what was going on back home, so as far as Andrea knew, Jesse might be out already, or dead, or the men hunting her could be dead or in charge of everything. It was hard to tell, and that was infuriating.

“Too many variables,” was what Mike liked to say about it. He also liked to tell her that when it all blew over, she and Jesse could be back together again. That was an odd thought, considering his whole bizarre “hurt her to save her” speech he had laid on her the last time they had spoken in person, the way that he’d gone on about how being near him was too dangerous.

If she saw him again, she’d probably have to give him the same speech.

“Are you ready?” Mike asked, now, giving her a look that didn’t leave much room for argument. 

And she was. She was always ready, these days.

Her mouth felt soapy, like she’d been guzzling body wash or some awful soap they put in a bathroom. She wondered if that was all in her head – it was better than her mouth feeling all metallic and bloody, though, so she wouldn’t think on it for very long.

“Where will you meet me, after?”

“At the corner. You know the place. Right in front of the nice little fruit stand.”

“Okay. Yeah. After all this, maybe you can buy me a pineapple at least.”

***

It was funny how no one gave a second glance at the duffel bag under her arm. They probably figured she was going to the gym.

She drifted into the hotel lobby, walked up to the desk, and tapped on it. 

She gave a name, and the man pointed without a word.

She smiled at him, threw her hair back, and kept walking. She wouldn’t break her stride, not now.

Not ever again.

***

When she opened the door, he was sitting on the bed watching CNN.

Something about him felt oddly familiar, but only for a moment.

Then the moment, and the man, were gone. The blast felt as loud as the sound of her shoes clicking against the tile as she ran.

***

Her heart was beating so fast that she was pretty sure Mike could hear it.

But all he said was, “Good job. You’re doing a great job. Let’s get a drink.”

She tried not to think too hard about his tone of voice, and how much regret she heard there. She hadn’t chosen this, of course, but there were a lot of things she hadn’t chosen.

But there was something else, too. In the pull of the trigger, in the sound of the blast.

There was something about power, about never being helpless again.

About answering a door, pulling back the chain, and choosing her own destiny. 

“Let’s get a drink.”


End file.
